


You Want It Darker

by wordsliketeeth



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: BDSM elements, Biting, Blood Kink, Blood and Injury, Canon Compliant, Consensual Abuse, Cutting, Danger Noodle Canoodle, Drug Use (Anesthetic), Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Masturbation, Rough Sex, Sadistic Character, Salty Twins, Snek Sass, dry bite, snake bite - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 16:00:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17942798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsliketeeth/pseuds/wordsliketeeth
Summary: “'That's a serious request my doll,' Sano hisses, his tongue flicking out to glance the pulse twitching just beneath the polychromatic aggregation of finger-shaped bruises coloring your neck. 'It's almost as if you want me to kill you.'” Your relationship with Sano is a dangerous one, but sinister threats mean nothing when you get to spend some quality time with him.





	You Want It Darker

His body is cold.

His words are vicious, vile and cruel like the lethal venom that spills through his veins. The whisper of breath against the shell of your ear makes you shiver and furl your toes, your body spread out across Sano's white lab coat like a piece of art. His palms are flat against the exam table on either side of your head, a makeshift cage that's needless considering the weight that's keeping you pinned to the table. Sano hovers above you like a dark shadow teeming with static as thick as tar and the thrumming threat of something electric and deadly.

Everything about Sano spells danger without the threat of Akira hanging over his shoulder but you can feel him staring at you from across the room. You've become used to his lingering presence and you're no longer ashamed to admit that you're now capable of parsing just who is in the room with you and the closeness of their proximity. Sano's gaze is cold and calculative, and the gravity of his stare never fails to draw a shiver down the entire length of your spine. Akira's gaze, on the other hand, is hot and piercing, enough to prickle your skin in a way that leaves a thin sheen of sweat across your flesh.

“I want you to bleed for me,” Sano says, his teeth catching at the fleshy part of your earlobe as he draws back to put just enough distance between your bodies to incite curiosity before he slams himself back home. His cock his heavy and pulsing with desire and you can't be sure for the slick of your arousal, but you think that you can feel the wet of Sano's desire beading down your inner walls each time he thrusts forward and catches the head of his cock against the boundaries of your sex.

“Then make me bleed,” you tell him, gasping a tiny breath when he ducks his head and pierces the juncture of your neck and shoulder with his razor-sharp teeth. You arch your back and feel the delicate curve of your spine come away from the exam table. Sano moves in time with your involuntary trajectory and winds an arm around your back to hold you flush against his chest. His nails drag along the arc of your back, and you can't help but pin your focus on the painful traction and the way it shifts to the low of your spine. The table is cold against your skin, the fabric of Sano's lab coat not enough to fully cancel out the chill of metal beneath you. However, the utilitarian slab doesn't hold a candle to the intense frigidity of Sano's body, but you're grateful for the relief considering the radiant fever burning through your flesh and down to the very marrow of your bones.

“That's a serious request my doll,” Sano hisses, his tongue flicking out to glance the pulse twitching just beneath the polychromatic aggregation of finger-shaped bruises coloring your neck. “It's almost as if you want me to kill you.”

“Would it make you happy?” you ask, undaunted by the future possibilities or the potential outcomes of the question. Somewhere, in the nethermost depths of your mind, in the only corners left untouched by Sano's desecration, you know that you're in the devil's playground. Those fragments, still competent enough to recognize the perversion and the sin and the impiety of Sano's actions seem so delicate now. There are so few left between the venom and the black and the gossamer webs that have otherwise monopolized your mind. It's a terrifying concept, one that holds far more truth than fancy or hallucinatory hope. It's veracity in it's purest state and it should frighten you much more than it does. Be that as it may, Sano has managed to dig his hooks so deep beneath your skin that you're no longer capable of seeing the truth for what it is. You're merely a puppet held up by far too many broken strings.

“I trust that you already know the answer to that, ____.” Sano rakes his nails down your sides and you cry out reflexively, howling at the pain like a wolf in heat. You can feel your skin come apart beneath his fingertips, the sharp of his nails like claws. The familiar burn of injury spreads over your skin even after Sano's shifting his hands to your hips, and you can feel rivulets of blood slide down your flesh like tiny serpents.

“Here,” says Akira, and you turn your head to look in his direction, eyes hazy with fog and glazed with heat. Something silver catches in the fluorescent lights above you but you can't make out what it is before Sano is snatching it out of his twin's hand.

“Don't soil my tools,” he tells Akira, frowning and serious. “I take special care to keep them sanitized.”

“What are you implying? That I'm _dirty_?” Akira asks, huffing a breath of air through his nose. “Hate to break it to you, bro, but you crossed that line with me a long time ago. Face it, we're both filthy.”

Sano shoots Akira a sideways glance that speaks for his irritation but says nothing more on the topic as he brings the shiny tool into view. The rhythm of his hips has slowed but not entirely stilled, and the friction building between you is enough to make you shudder violently with need. Your legs begin to tremble from strain, the effort of holding them open quickly becoming too much to bear. You try to concentrate on something other than the titillating satisfaction pooling between your thighs but even when you pull the object in Sano's hand into view it's not enough.

Sano turns the scalpel over in his hand as if he's admiring its beauty. “Do you know how many times I've used this on you?” he asks, his voice lilting into sing-song sweetness unsuited to his boorish personality.

“I've lost count,” is your answer, unsteady and caught between stuttering breaths.

Sano's gaze turns vacant for a brief moment, seemingly lost to the myriad thoughts that spill through his mind darker than the inky interstice of his mouth. He blinks you back into focus and the corner of his mouth lifts into a twisted smile. “If you were anyone else you'd be long dead by now. Yet, you never cease to amaze me.” Sano presses the cool edge of the blade to your skin and tilts his head to the side. “You are precious to me.” The slide of the thin metal against your flesh makes you shiver and your heart begin to race. However, you remind yourself to stay calm in order to keep your breathing steady. You close your eyes for only a second but when you open them, Sano is bathed in artificial light, a makeshift halo circling his head in a way that underscores his innate fondness toward all things blasphemous.

“Thank you for letting me live,” you say mechanically, no longer needing to remind yourself to be polite in his presence, for his routines have become commonplace. Yet, when Sano reaches for his craft and you become his canvas, it feels anything but customary. When Sano makes you into a work of art, it's no longer about the pain or the risks but the ritualistic meaning behind his actions. It's an unspoken act of lust and adoration, and each future scar that he leaves on your skin is a trophy of his love.

You can hear the wet slide of slick, the friction of skin-on-skin, and the low purr of pleasure from across the room. But it's not Akira you're thinking about when Sano tilts his hips forward and drives into you with animalistic need. Sano cuts into you with careful precision, his eyes pinned to the spill of your blood as he begins to fuck into you with a renewed sense of urgency. You reach out to touch the contour of his cheek, flushed with heat and spattered with tiny crimson droplets. You wait for his assent, and when he leans forward and rubs his face against your palm you're imbued with a sense of gratification. It's success in every meaning of the word, and you're suddenly overcome with such a strong wave of emotion that when Sano lets himself go and spills himself to completion inside of you, tears begin to stream down your cheeks.

“Yes,” Sano hisses, “cry for me my doll.” He sweeps the blade across your flesh a final time before dropping the bloodied tool onto a nearby tray. His hands close on your hips as he bends forward to lap at your wounds with all the reverence of a penitent. The drag of his tongue is rough and his fingertips are digging into your flesh with such brutality that you can feel contusions forming under his touch. Still and all, when his tongue flicks over the turgid peak of a nipple and his hips twitch to catch the head of his cock against your clit, no amount of pain can keep you from screaming his name as you come apart beneath him.

Sano sinks his fangs into the swell of your breast as heat floods through your body and lightning branches through your veins. The pain is stimulating enough on its own but the threat of his poisonous venom entering your veins makes a kaleidoscope of light flash behind your tear-damp eyes. The room tips sideways and your vision blurs, and all of the electricity in your body turns over to a series of exhaustive tremors.

“Shh, hush now, doll. I'll take care of you,” Sano says, his breath cool against the cloying spill of color demarcating your complexion.

You feel Sano's fingers close around your wrist before he lowers your still-raised arm back down to the exam table. “You've been such a good girl,” he tells you, and the praise sticks to your skin like the viscous fluid leaking from the apex of your thighs. “Go to sleep now.”

You close your eyes and feel the familiar prick of a needle enter through a bruise on the side of your neck, your heart pounding rapidly in your chest.

And just before you fall into the heavy arms of slumber, you think to yourself just how lucky you really are.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
